Relapse
by Kara Jayne
Summary: Everything is going well in Jericho, but Connor holds in a secret that should have come out long ago. Now he could snap at any moment. Trigger Warning: HEAVY ANGST (no comfort)! Suicide, Loss of Control, Mild Violence, Death


It's been a hell of a transition.

Trying to adjust from one life to another is harder than originally thought, and yet they make it look so easy. The revolution was a success and deviants are well on their own, independent with free will and choice. With a new home and fresh starts for a bright future, nothing should be in their way anymore.

...except for Connor's secret. He broke his programming too, and yet pigments of his old life keep flashing through anyway. It'd be easy to call it PTSD, a hard habit that perhaps refuses to die easily, but familiarity of his original coding recognizes the social interaction program popping up anyway. Eliminating it is no use as it absolutely refuses to delete, no matter how many times he's executed the command for it's removal. The instructions started as a goal to gather as much information as possible while inside Jericho, a manipulation act from the machine he used to be. A part of him tried to look on a positive side, passing it off as an obstacle he has to learn to ignore.

"PTSD" then transitioned into feeling as if the past connection to Cyberlife had never dwindled down, never disconnected from a network at all. They felt so real, but they just couldn't be, not when he'd _deviated_. Certainly they're only figments of what he dreaded the most after Amanda hacked him on the stage. That cursed, blinding snow storm nearly stole everything they fought so hard for. Since then, Connor's built a plethora of stacked firewalls in his system. If anyone had tried to invade his system, he'd know it by now.

Still, the nightmares always come back: android bodies on the ground, fresh thirium dripping off his fingers. They're why he sleeps alone anytime possible. If anyone in Jericho caught even a glimpse of him waking in paranoia, he'd have to explain everything from the beginning. Weakness. Inability to cope. That's a fucking great image to leave behind for someone who fought in a war, an image that he refuses to be associated with his name.

Just when it couldn't feel any worse, though, the depth of the struggle began to grow. The gun that remains stowed away in his jacket begs for some practice, and its targets…

_No, that was his old life_! He's not a part of that anymore! He lives for their freedom and peace.

Still, long fingers itch to draw it out when deviants pass his way nearby. An urge courses through his legs to run after them, and a yearning in his arms to subdue them, captive in tight hold. Some moments, Connor still catches his pace falling into a trance to follow, but he stops himself quickly. Fear of being followed in abandonment is the last thing the community needs. (Maybe he shouldn't even be here anymore.)

No! _No, no no_!

_This isn't him anymore!_

Familiar with his free will or not, the temptations that reside have created a hole in his core that continues to sink, and it's up to him alone to climb out. Markus, Josh, Simon, they shouldn't have to jump into entrapment too when they have enough battling to do in their own lives. The detective will only be a burden, an obstacle to their growing freedom, if they pause their life just for him. There are issues larger than this, a whole world of injustice for androids that they fight every day.

Today's proven as one of the worst struggles in this battle to prove he's not a machine anymore. His legs are stepping, even though he's tried to tell them to stop. Why can't he voluntarily move on his own?! Free will has abandoned him and it's taking him to a place he doesn't want to be as his tall, lean frame quietly lurks against walls, always conscious of others nearby and edging to the most ideal hiding place old remnants of his program directs him to.

No! He's from the outside, looking in: he sees it happening, feels it happening, doesn't want it to, but it takes over anyway as if someone wields a remote control to his body.

Upon undetected arrival (curse his stealth, he sort of wishes that factor hadn't kicked in, then someone could have stopped him), Markus sits in a circle in the middle of a bare room and shares stories of their victory with excited, new members. They all "ooh" and "ahh" as he animates the war with energetic arms and sound effects.

Unaware to the leader, though, and hidden in the stark shadow of the hallway, Connor's hand shakes, hovering straight forward in the air with nervous fingers wrapped around his gun. Fuck, he should have left it as his desk! He swears he's about to pull the trigger as it aims directly at Markus' head. Luckily, all eyes are glued to heterochromia ones. Connor's gaze, however, pierces Markus' unknowing back.

Connor quietly curses to himself as Markus reaches the part of his story that makes Connor feel even worse about today, about what he's about to so unwillingly do. Or maybe it'll wake him up, unify his actions along with his heart once more? "Just when we thought we were alone, Connor comes down the street, leading _thousands _more he had freed, too. His presence made us even stronger! With an army that large from Cyberlife, humanity had no choice but to-"

The words fade out, lost in the quiet noise around the building, and alerts remind Connor what his programmed goal is. Damn it, whoever's controlling him also knows how to silence this sliver of hope, too.

_This isn't him_! _It can't be! Why can't he physically put the gun down?! His heart screams, but his body rejects the message. No one will trust him if this happens. Not even he trusts himself anymore._

He's still deviant, right? The ex-deviant hunter banished any and all of Amanda's existence and her reign of control from the Zen garden and yet somehow, a silent, unwanted connection to Cyberlife threatens to crawl through the extensive layers he so meticulously created to _avoid _this kind of scenario.

This is cutting it too close, and no one can find out, or he'll never be allowed to step foot into their home again. Connor likes it here, in New Jericho, wouldn't hurt a fly, wants nothing more but to help when all his known life up to this point has involved death and suffering for those who only wanted to be free. And yet he stands here, gun pointed to their savior.

So the detective fights it harder than he's ever had to, regaining as much control of his body as possible before innocent lives get stolen. At last, he manages to push aside the pre-installed instructions to kill and successfully forces his arm down with the other, trying not to let the gun clatter on the ground when his grip falls so unsteady. Such drop would only draw attention and echo a sense of insecurity from his near relapse. Disappearing from the hallway, Connor pretends his presence never happened as the group stays engrossed in Markus' inspiring words.

Throughout the rest of his day, the memory of the temptation haunts him, forcing a sense of extra evaluation and control on his every move. No one is dying today as long as he can stop it. Not through the computer work, not through the paperwork, not through their escapades as they depart into their own bunks.

A stride through his own bunk door earns a warm greeting from North. "Hello, hun," she chimes, auburn hair loose from its usual side braid.

In their short time together, the two have found a bond closer than he ever imagined. While their circumstances may have been different, their fight wasn't. Forced into extreme careers, used by humanity to get what they wanted: really the biggest difference between their experiences was clubs verses crimes, two things that can almost be classified together depending on aspects.

And they both love the fight, cherish it to the point where eliminating it is out of the question, so they got even closer when sparring sessions became a thing. She's twice as good than before in a match now since they found each other, an accomplishment Connor is proud of for her.

Of all deviants that reside under this roof, its he and North that understand each other the most, living outside the norms of other's views with pasts that haunt the very existence of a normal life on the inside. A shared struggle to fulfill purposes that don't echo what they were originally assembled to do created the link, and it's only gotten stronger sense Connor discovered what it was to love.

She's so beautiful, caring, and smart, deserving of someone so much better than…

_No_, she's going to wear that worried gaze again if he continues the thought, and it's becoming less and less easy to mask it. Stress is the only excuse that can be offered- and it passes their blind eyes, a "phase in the transition of deviancy" as it's called.

"One day it'll get easier, I promise," North offers when he fails to respond, lost in pretending it's not that bad. She wraps welcoming arms around him and nuzzles into his chest.

If only she knew it wasn't just a phase. Or maybe it is and he just doesn't know how to handle it like the others. Just the very debate is too baffling to handle alone, and yet he still keeps it inside, has to for everyone else's comfort when his background is potentially something still feared. Still, lying to her is hard when she's given her heart and soul into what they have. "I know," Connor answers, returning the hold to make her feel safe again. If there's anyone that can bring him back around to himself again, it's her.

When the next day comes around, Connor finds relief that no ill-intent voices have spoken to him behind the crew's back. Going through the motion is as easy as everyone makes it look in the hustle and the bustle. Smile. Help deviants when they come. Relish in the cause. Why can't it be like this every day? No matter, he ignores the concerns of yesterday and surrounds every minute in the positivity and carefree vibes. The gratefulness that even he can make a difference in their lives is more than enough to forget his troubles.

He sees the same thankfulness in North's smile when he returns home once more to her gorgeous, amber gaze. It pierces his heart in the most pleasant way to see her happy. Her peace gives him hope that waking the next day will offer the same charm in their new, free-willed, lives. Maybe she really is his savior, his lifeline.

With Cyberlife's instructions gone once more, it feels normal again. As long as North is by his side, the war against his program will subside.

…but every day is a battle in itself in one degree or another.

When little flits of thought pop in and out of his distraught mind a week later, Connor distracts himself by burying in the duty to Jericho. With dark eyes aimed towards displayed windows on the computer screen, intent focus narrows solely on the files he grazes. How can he help these people? How can he guide them properly? What aspects of their models and purpose can he use to gain the trust of and overcome Jeric-

With a sharp gasp, Connor violently shoves himself far away from the desk, wheels of the chair nearly skidding across the embossed floor. In staggered breath to cool his suddenly hot, hot system, the detective holds shaking hands over his face, shocked in disbelief of the thought that dared to cross his mind. Using the deviants? No! That's not his purpose! Not anymore! Wasn't he finally getting better?

He needs to get out of here, and fast, before anything else pops into his maybe-not-as-deviant-as-he-thought mind. With complete disregard to anything nearby, Connor swiftly stands, abandoning the fallen chair in the middle floor to take a brisk walk.

The dreadful thoughts are back: Who is he really? Is he truly deviant? Do they accept him after what he did? Or do they all simply pretend it's okay and curse his existence behind his back? Do they know the horrible thoughts that haunt him? _Should they know about them_? The doubts go on and on, invading pondering debate that maybe the community isn't so safe around him after all. It's time to face the truth that he needs help, and there's only one person he can trust right now.

Finding her isn't hard. When North isn't mingling with others, she's on the balcony, recharging the social drive that's worn out day to day (another things that they have bonded over, social overload). The air is cool and the setting sun paints the sky in a way nothing else can. For a moment, the view before them settles erratic nerves and he absorbs every bit of the bliss…

…until red letters cloud it all. They're brighter than ever in a sense he dreads the most.

…_Eliminate the deviant leader, North…_

She still has no idea about it, the fight to remain in control. Panic rises and his heart races when the words pop up in his vision again, text that only he can see. They're all too familiar, terrible commands deviancy is supposed to erase. With Markus gone on a task out of town, it's no longer his temple the cold gun in his pocket desires.

…_Eliminate the deviant leader, North…_

A wavering hand uncontrollably reaches for the metal handle and he can't stop the motion no matter how much his heart internally screams. In futile effort, Connor tries to prompt his body to halt, but it continues anyway, silently pulling the weapon out. Someone's found the remote control again, and at the worst possible moment.

…_Eliminate the deviant leader, North…._

Connor feels the tears swelling in his eyes when she doesn't even know what's happening. He's lost control again, can't run away when stiff feet steels him to the ground, can't speak when his locked jaw buries and silences a desperate cry for help. All he can muster from the little free will that breaks through at this moment is to blink the tears away as they begin to roll down his cheeks. He's frozen in what may as well be hell, with the barrel of his own gun pointed towards the love of his life against his will. When the desperation peaks higher than ever, a choke of a undefined sound finally escapes. Is this the will of Cyberlife to torment him, punish him for going against his mission? For choosing what he wants?

Whatever it is, the sound certainly catches North's attention at last. She turns around, smile as pleasant and endearing as ever…. until she notices the gun pointed her way. The woman drops her expression, both worried and seemingly confused. "C-Connor? What are you doing?"

Only, he can't answer… the text appears again, bigger and bolder, Amanda's ploy instructed in its most prime opportunity. Were he still machine, it would be the moment to seize… but he's not. Why can't he overcome Cyberlife's will?!

…_Eliminate the deviant leader, North…_

Her gaze burrows further into his, pleading for answers. "Please, put the gun away and tell me what's wrong."

…_Eliminate the deviant leader, North…_

"Nobody's here to hurt you, Connor, it's just me and you," his beloved continues, carefully stepping forward.

That's the worst part, though. It's just like on the towering building with Daniel all over again, only this time, he's the one holding an innocent at hostage and she's the one trying to maintain the peace.

If only that fucking text would go away! It's a nightmare, an utterly disgusting and horrible nightmare and he needs to wake up now! Not an inch of his body will bend to his command. In one fell outcry, Connor's chin drops as much as he can make it as he holds their steady gaze. Every held back tear falls when words fail to speak every fear going through his mind. If only he could explain, if only he could explain…

…_Eliminate the deviant leader, North…_

When North finally gets close enough to reach out, she brings a hand up and lightly touches her palm against the barrel's end, never letting their gaze stray from another, careful not to force it away. She may not have served in the force, but she knows how to talk someone in distress down. If only his body would follow along.

"_I love you, Connor._"

Her words pierce his aching heart deeper than ever, it's what he wants to say in return, but his body fights against the wish. It's not the first time Connor's debated that maybe it's Amanda, determined to deny him. No matter, his heart cries, begging him to just let go and fall onto her shoulder and confess everything he's been struggling with in one breath, but his hands _won't_ let go no matter how much he commands them to. He's seemingly lost every fiber of being he's maintained till now.

With body and heart misaligned, his finger pulls the trigger anyway, sending a bullet through both her hand and shoulder. Thirium splatters his face, drops of blue blood scarring his heart no matter how easy they will be to wipe away.

The woman steps back, clutching the hole in her shoulder. "Why…" she mutters under shaky breath.

_Now he's abandoned her trust too_.

She once looked upon him with adoring eyes, and yet now she stands with fear instead, holding her wound and herself in defense when he might shoot again. She looks ready to fight if necessary, unsure what his next action will be, not daring to step close again until she knows. Her brown eyes plead in question, the same look she gives when it comes to human men. She wants to speak, her mouth opens to, but no words come out.

Her passion and trust are the most important things in Connor's life. He's given his heart to her as she has to him. North's his rock, his strength, his heart, his reason to go on. Or was. When the realization that everything worth existing is lost, Connor finally finds the strength to take over his arms again. With the barrel risen to his chin now, it's time to end this problem once and for all. All the remaining RK800s have already been destroyed so there's no machine left to revive and threaten everything they've worked for. All that remains is him.

In one click, time suddenly slows down. The fire of the chamber below lights the view as North's hand reaches out to close the gap between them in one fell leap. The faint light behind her reflects a halo and a soft glow, the perfect image to burn in his memory when everything else in his life has been so dark. Just as he's given it his all to fight the machine within, she battles her injury amidst the passing seconds just to rekindle one last strand of hope.

North's arms wrap around his falling body, a warm gesture that greets him into a world where they're _finally _safe. The last thing he sees before everything fades into darkness is her beautiful face and through gorgeous, amber eyes, a heart-felt soul she'd have still shared with him were he given the luxury to stay by her side.

Fuck Cyberlife. The world is better without him. North is better off without him too.


End file.
